


Sleeper's Blossom

by argyleasterisks



Category: Gentleman Bastard Sequence - Scott Lynch
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fuck Or Die, Happy Ending, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 14:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7806133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argyleasterisks/pseuds/argyleasterisks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Locke inadvertently gets himself drugged with someone else's drink, and Jean takes far too long determining just what ails him, there is only one option left to save Locke's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeper's Blossom

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place prior to Red Seas/Red Skies, sometime in the year before, and assumes that Locke stops pining quite so hard over Sabetha and, due to shared trauma, falls for Jean. Just a tiny canon divergence!

**Interlude**

Sleeper’s Blossom is a plant grown nearly exclusively in Jerhom. When in bloom its small white flowers are plucked, the petals removed and set to an aging and drying process. The dried petals of this bloom are then soaked in a series of black alchemical concoctions whose recipes are dearly guarded secrets of those who know of them. When finally put to market, Sleepers Blossom is a colorless, tasteless powder typically used recreationally by bored nobles, and criminally by men and women with a very particular vice and no particular morals.

 

**One**

Locke Lamora, known at the Sinspire as Leocanto Kosta, took the drink that was offered to his neighboring player, not sparing a glance for the liveried attendant who offered it or the young woman now staring at him from the next seat over. It was filled with the dark liquor she favored and, taking a sip to mask his brief hesitation, he quickly tapped a message to Jean using his bare toes atop Jean's bare foot beneath the table. The drink was a distraction as he glanced thoroughly over her hand and tapped several more signals.

  
The woman gave a harrumph and called for another drink. Play resumed. Locke plucked several more of his opponent’s drinks throughout the round and, by the time he and Jean had finished taking them for all they were worth, he was feeling quite inebriated indeed.

  
"Jerome," he said, as attendants swept their winnings into compact wooden boxes. "I seem to have drunk more than I thought. What say we cash out our winnings and retire for the night?"

  
Jean gave him a troubled look and nodded "Certainly, Leo. You do sound a bit out of sorts."

  
Together, they made their way down to the first floor of the Sinspire and had a blessedly brief stop at the cash office. Locke's legs were beginning to wobble and his head to feel damnably fuzzy as they made their way down the spires gilded steps. He stumbled and could do nothing as the ground began to rush up at him. Jean's hands, as the bigger man grabbed Locke around the middle to cease his headlong tumble, were solid and warm, as was his side when he pulled Locke against him.

  
"Easy now Leo," Jean murmured, steadying Locke on his feet. "Easy. How much did you drink, you god's damned lunatic?"

  
Locke blinked fuzzily and gave in to the urge to burrow tighter against Jean's side. "I- not this much, I thought. Three from the woman on my left and only one from the fellow to my right," he mumbled, the slur in his voice apparent even to him. Jean helped him along, their pace as rapid as Locke could manage. A light breeze was blowing and the scent it carried from Jean's skin seemed nearly as intoxicating as the alcohol had been: sweat, a hint of smoke, the citrus soap Jean favored. He found himself tilting his head towards Jean's neck heedless of anything but the sudden desire to be closer to him.

  
Jean pulled them up short just as Locke’s nose began to brush at his hair. With one hand Jean gripped Locke’s chin and stared at him.

 

“Something is not right here, Leo,” Jean growled, his eyes narrowing dangerously. He leaned closer and Locke's gaze was drawn inexorably to his lips. He swallowed hard and felt himself quiver in Jean’s grip. His heart was racing and heat had begun to suffuse his body.

  
“Jean,” he began, cutting himself off with a helpless moan as he realized Jean had thrust one leg between his and that his own body was so far out of his control that he was grinding against it like a boy barely come into puberty. “Poison?” Locke managed to gasp.

  
“Hm, poison. Yes,” Jean agreed, “Likely meant for someone else, I'd imagine.” He hesitated then took hold of Locke again. “We've got to get you back to the inn.”

  
Locke was clawing at his own hips in the effort to resist the urge to fondle himself through his breeches. He nodded emphatically an agreement. “Jea- Jerome- I don't know...” He shook his head, trying to clear it even a little. “We'd better hurry.”

  
“We’ll hire a private boat,” Jean said grimly.

 

**Two**

When they finally reached their rooms Locke was too frenzied to think. He ripped at his cravats, far too hot, and when they failed to cooperate he ripped at his over shirt, sending a spray of buttons flying across the room. Jean simply watched him with dark, wary eyes.

  
“Get out!” Locke cried as he began tugging at his trousers. “You don't need to-” He gasped as his hands brushed his straining erection. “You don't-” This time he interrupted himself with a moan. “Crooked Warden,” he whimpered, losing his unsteady feet and collapsing to the, thankfully, lushly carpeted floor. When he looked up again, Jean had vanished. Locke fell in on himself, writhing and moaning.

 

**Three**

Several hours later when Jean returned, gasping and panting from exertion, he found Locke still on the floor, an utter wreck.

  
Locke's eyes found his and his face was tear streaked.

  
“Nothing helps,” Locke said, his voice a raspy, fucked sound. Above him, Jean shuddered.

  
“No,” Jean said, “Pale Therese told me,” then he gasped, out of breath, and began quickly but neatly disrobing. After a moment, he was able to continue. “She told me that if I returned and you were still in this condition that you would be beyond anyone's help but my own.”

  
Locke pressed a hand to his chest as the other crept towards his straining cock. “Hurts, Jean,” he mumbled, his too-bright eyes locked on where Jean was peeling off his breeches. “What-?”

  
“Hush,” Jean commanded, and winced as Locke's cock jumped as if in response to the lash in his voice. Fully undressed, he knelt down beside the smaller man and drew Locke's hand away from his reddened, still slick sex. “She said,” Jean began, pinning the wrist he held then taking the other and gently doing the same, “that it is likely Sleeper’s Blossom and that the only remedy would be-”

  
“Sleeper’s Blossom?” Locke gasped, recognizing the drug even through the haze of sex. “Oh fuck, Jean!”

  
Jean nodded. “I'm sorry, Locke. I took too long. I-”

  
“Thirteen gods, Jean, please!” Locke cried. His heart was positively pounding. “Now is not the time to apologize!”

  
Jean stared at him and then shrugged. He settled Locke's wrists beside Locke's hips and bowed his head. There was the wet sound of him licking his lips, and his hair fell forward in an obscuring curtain as he swallowed Locke's cock to the hilt into his warm wet mouth.

  
Locke's hips jerked once and, shuddering, he came. Jean swallowed around his shaft, sucking, the tip of his tongue sliding along the underside.

  
“Holy shit,” Locke breathed as his fingers scrabbled at the carpets, utterly helpless in Jean’s grip. Another hot wave of arousal rode over him and his chest felt squeezed.

  
After a moment, Jean looked up, releasing Locke's cock with a wet pop that set his hips jerking again. “She said skin-to-skin,” he whispered, his bass voice rumbling even deeper than usual. He moved up Locke's body, planting a kiss on one protruding hip, then his sternum, then the scar below his left clavicle. “That you need another body's fluids on your skin,” Jean continued, his lips brushing Locke's neck. Locke let out a long moan and arched his body against Jean’s, rubbing languorously, his still hard cock pressing into Jean’s soft stomach.

  
“Forgive me, gods, Locke,” Jean moaned. He flicked his tongue against Locke's neck, laving upwards. He bit gently at Locke’s earlobe, hot breath tickling. Locke convulsed beneath him, the sensation sending him squirming. “Forgive me in the morning after the drug’s hold has passed.” 

He released Locke's wrists and Locke immediately reached around him, manicured nails digging into Jean’s back. Jean quivered, his hips dipping for just a moment, and Locke felt his friend’s hard length brush against his thigh. Control still was beyond his reach, and he pressed his thigh upwards as Jean tried to pull away, craving the feel of that stiff, hot flesh against his own.

  
“Fluids?” Locke found himself rasping. “Then kiss me, gods, Jean.”

 

Jean raised his head to look at him and Locke seized the opportunity, rushing up to press his lips to Jean's, parting them almost immediately and lapping at Jeans mouth in desperate entreaty. Jean gasped and Locke pressed his advantage, thrusting his tongue against Jean's, their teeth clacking together once at his wanton enthusiasm. He slid one hand into Jean’s hair and tugged lightly, eliciting a grunt that shot straight to his balls. With another desperate thrust against Jean’s belly, he came again, slickness spreading between them as Locke continued to buck against him.

  
At that Jean whimpered outright and fell against Locke's mouth in earnest, their tongues slipping against one another, teeth nipping softly at swollen lips. Jean moved then, coming up barely on his knees, contorting himself so that their erections came level. They brushed and both men moaned. Taking his weight on one hand, Jean reached between them and held their cocks together, enveloping them easily. He stroked lazily, aided by Locke's come and the pre they both seemed to leak copiously.

  
“Gods, Jean,” Locke moaned, his mouth going slack. He gripped harder at Jean, turning his face aside and pressing it to Jean's sweat slick neck, rubbing against the dampness like a cat and inhaling deeply. “Gods damned but your hand feels amazing, he whispered. “So big.” Against his, Jean’s cock surged and swelled, the bigger man grinding his hips down just so. Locke came for a third time with a ragged cry. Jean caught his release and coated them both with it before coming himself with another soft grunt. He was dripping with sweat and his hips worked for a few more seconds, and Locke arched upwards, loving the hot feel of Jean’s release on his skin. Jean sat up and stared down at Locke's chest with glassy eyes. After a second he closed them.

  
“Forgive me,” he muttered again, and cut off any protest Locke might have offered by wrapping his arms firmly around Locke's middle and lifting him as easily as if Locke were a doll. Standing, he shifted and then carried Locke into the bedroom, then threw him on the bed, following him with a lunge that brought him looming over Locke's body again. He leaned down and with an almost pained sound ran his tongue from Locke's navel to his collar bones, moving from there with agonizing thoroughness over the rest of Locke's come and sweat streaked skin, cleaning up every rope of sticky seed. Locke watched, fascinated, as Jean’s pink tongue darted to and fro, his eyes closed and expression blissful.

  
He was able to regard his friend with a sudden clear-headedness. His cock still stood, but he felt he could think, his chest no longer ached, and he wanted, desperately. With a gentle tug on Jean's hair he got the man's attention. Jean's eyes were blazing, his cheeks flushed, and, glancing between them, Locke saw that he was already hard again. He licked his lips.

  
“Fluids,” he said softly. “Maybe I could..” he trailed off, his eyes still at Jean's straining erection, his mouth going to dry at the strangeness of what he wanted now. “I've never…” he trailed off again.

  
Jean was staring at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, the flush on his cheeks deepening to scarlet. “You want, ah- er,” Jean stuttered a few times and Locke was able to simply tip him over with a firm push when he grew impatient.

  
“Yes,” Locke said, already scooting down until his eyes were level with Jean's rather formidable equipment. Of course Locke had seen it before, but never so close, and never with such intent. Fascinated, he cupped Jean’s balls, tugging lightly and then rubbing them with the flat of his palm. Jean let out a steady soft stream of curses as Locke brought his mouth down and gave the head of his cock an experimental lick. The taste had the same effect as the scent of Jean’s sweat, sending heat surging through Locke's body to pool at his cock. Encouraged, Locke took the entire head into his mouth and wrapped a fist around the base. Peering down, there was a very appreciable distance to his fingers. He pumped and lapped at the salty bitter pre come that Jean rewarded him with. Working up his courage. Finally, he sucked in another inch or two and worked his tongue along the base, glancing upwards at Jean's face. He could feel the corners of his mouth pull upwards as their eyes met.

  
Jean let out a pained groan. “Fuck me Locke, you have no idea-”

  
Locke pressed his tongue flat and deliberately brought his hand up Jean's shaft and his mouth down on it. Jean let out a strangled cry and his head fell back, eyes rolling and hips bucking. Locke had to pull back completely to avoid choking, finally turning his eyes from Jean’s slack face and back to his work.

  
“Oh,” Jean growled as Locke licked delicately around the rim of his cockhead. “Oh, no you don't.”

  
Jean's hands tangled into Locke's hair and pulled insistently. The command in his voice and grip had Locke reaching between his legs to stroke himself, finally giving in to his driving need. Jean's hands in his hair took his weight and he opened wide, swallowing at Jean's cock, the bite of pain driving him to take it as deeply as he could. Both his hands stroked desperately, and he squeezed at the base of Jean’s cock. With a grunt, Jean lifted his hips and held Locke down, pushing until Locke choked outright then hauling him up by the hair before he could bite.

  
Locke came, tears springing to his eyes and a trail of spittle connecting his mouth to Jean's cock. His come spattered and he moaned, looking up just to catch the dark, hungry look on Jean’s face. Jean pushed him back down and Locke swallowed reflexively, then thick, salty come was rushing over his tongue. Unthinking, he swallowed again, then licked at the tip of Jean's cock to catch the last desultory dribbles of release. Jean released his hair, and Locke rolled over, curling himself against Jean’s side. He was asleep almost instantly.

 

**Four**

Two days later, Locke Lamora awoke to the soft murmur of voices from his and Jean’s sitting room. Jean's low bass rumble rose slightly, another, soft voice answered. Chairs scraped and then the door opened and closed. Heavy footsteps- unmistakably Jean’s- made their way from the entry to the door of the bedchamber. After a brief moment jean stepped in.

  
His eyes immediately went to Locke and when their eyes met, Jean flushed.

  
Memories like hazy half dreams struck Locke and he cringed beneath his bed sheets. But he wasn't sticky, wasn't sore, wasn't anything.

  
“Jean,” he ventured, “Was I- did we really-”

  
“I'm sorry, but it was your life!” Jean cried. “You gods damned fool! You- you idiot! It was all I could do, I didn't have enough time to call for a whore, it was all I could do with the time Pale Therese told me I had!”

  
“Shut up!” Locke nearly shouted, sitting up. He was wearing light under clothes and he could still smell soap on his blankets and skin. Jean fell silent, staring at him. Locke leaped up out of bed and crossed the room with pure impulse driving him. When he reached Jean, he took the man's face in his hands and had to raise himself up on his toes to press his mouth to Jean's. He pulled back, keeping his grip on Jean's face as their eyes met. “It would never have happened without the bloody Blossom, but-”

  
“I wanted it, Locke,” Jean cut in. “I liked it. Gods forgive me, but I've wanted you like that for years.”

  
Locke drew up short, blinking. “Years?”

  
“Gods, yes. If I didn't feel as I do for you- anyone sane would have- fuck me, Locke Lamora, you bloody lunatic, I love you!”

  
“Crooked Warden,” Locke breathed, and lunged up again to take Jean's mouth. “Bloody hell, Jean, ever since ever since those last few years in Camorr, Jean, gods I've wanted this.”

  
Jean took a step back, reaching out to stop Locke from falling against him. “What in the fuck are you saying?”

  
“I'm saying,” Locke crowded Jean insistently. “That maybe it wouldn't have happened without the blossom, but I'm god's damned glad it did.” He touched as Jean's stubble-studded cheek and gave him a wry grin. “We would never have said anything to each other otherwise. And this opens up so many new options for our games!”

  
Jean took Locke by the shoulders and shook him, his expression deadly serious. “Promise me you aren't fucking with me, Locke Lamora. Swear it.”

  
“I swear it by the Nameless Thirteenth himself,” Locke shot back instantly, “and on my own cleverness. Do you need a demonstration of just how serious I am?”

  
Without waiting for an answer, Locke deftly began undoing the buttons of Jean's shirt. His fingers weren't clumsy this time, his head clear. Jean stopped him by gripping his forearms. “My terms,” he said, eyes narrowed. “My terms this time.” He gave Locke a shove that sent him sprawling onto the bed to look on appreciatively as Jean undressed. Eager, Locke shucked off his own light underclothes and splayed out comfortably, resting back on his elbows.

  
“Going to have me choking on your cock again?” he asked slyly.

  
Jean gave a short chuckle and kicked his breeches aside. “It is an excellent use for your smart mouth, I think.” He made his way over and gestured for Locke to sit up, tangling fingers in Locke’s hair and pulling. “Get to it then,” he said, that growling note back in his voice.

  
“With pleasure, Master Tannen,” Locke replied.

 

**End**


End file.
